Primrose
by for-prim
Summary: "It is impossible to tell Katniss how much I love her in just a few minutes; I doubt I could properly express myself if I had years to tell her...that she is my best friend, that she is the only one who brings me hope, that I want nothing more than her happiness and health, that without her I would have nothing." A Prim and Katniss story in three parts.
1. The Reaping

Part One of Three

* * *

The morning of the Reaping – my first – I wake before dawn in a cold sweat, despite the heat from the summer air and my sister's sleeping form beside me. My lips tremble as I struggle to contain the terror I feel, but I will not wake Katniss or my mother from their last hour of sleep before this awful, awful day begins.

I struggled with sleep all of last night and early this morning, only dropping off into darkness when my eyes began to cross with exhaustion. But in the depths of unconsciousness, I saw what surely awaited me, should my name be drawn today – a black nothingness. The emptiness of it all jolted me awake, and if my name is pulled from the glass orb today, at least I know what will become of me in the Capitol.

The inevitability of it all is crushing – perhaps I will not die today, perhaps not in this Hunger Games. But one day, my life will end, and instead of warm meadows and my father's embrace after I die, I know I will be met with only darkness.

We live our lives in the dark in Twelve, and not even death can bring us light.

Some nights, when I know Katniss and Mother have both fallen asleep, I sit awake and wonder about our Dad's last moments. I wonder if he was afraid – did he cry out like I so want to when I think of my own impending death? Did he think, until the last second before his body was blown to pieces, that someone would save him? That he would be okay?

In the daylight, I pretend to be content, given our circumstances. I see Katniss go into the woods day after day, risking her life to bring fresh meat and bread to our family. On the days she catches several rabbits or a gets a squirrel through the eye the way the baker likes them, we eat well. In the waning light of the evening, as our kitchen is filled with the sound of simmering meat and our cups are filled with hot tea, it is easy to forget that we are starving. A well-stoked fire and reading by the hearth lets me forget that with winter, we will struggle for both sustenance and firewood. It is easy to pretend that the three of us are just fine; it is easy to pretend that we will be stronger and live full and happy lives.

But the food always runs out, and the coldness always creeps in.

Dad used to say that no amount of money or material possessions could ever buy happiness; I'm not sure I believe him, especially now. I've become more and more bitter with each passing year; I feel my chest tighten and my heart harden with each slip reading _Katniss Everdeen_ that falls into the Reaping ball. My sister is sacrificing her life, and for what? A bit of grain? Oil to keep us warm?

The first light of morning reaches into our room, but the long, yellow rays bring a feeling of desperation rather than warmth or comfort. _Katniss Everdeen_ is written on twenty-four slips of paper, and even out of thousands the chance of her name being picked is so, so high. If her name is chosen – and something horrible about this morning tells me my heightened worries are founded – I will have mere minutes to say goodbye, and then she will be gone from me forever.

It is impossible to tell Katniss how much I love her in just a few minutes; I doubt I could properly express myself if I had years to tell her –

That she is my best friend, that she is the only one who brings me hope, that I want nothing more than her happiness and health, that without her I would have nothing.

She would be hopelessly out of place in the Capitol, among fancy clothing and strong, healthy children more suited than her for a fight. She would push through it, though. Learn everything she could during training, try her best to be appealing during the interviews. Katniss can kill animals and bring home food for us, but I'm not sure that she could kill another person. I hope she could – I want her to come back to me more than anything – but when it comes right down to it I'm just not certain.

Katniss doesn't believe it, but she is quiet, sensitive, and above all she is good. She is motivated by love for her family and an incredible will to survive, but would that be enough in the Capitol? What chance do either of us stand at the end of a Career's knife or spear? I imagine myself nose to nose with a Career – imagine the blade of his knife as it enters my chest – and I gasp. But the picture shifts and suddenly it is a pair of familiar, grey eyes rolling back in pain, and I watch as my sister crumples to the ground in a pool of thick, red blood.

I can't help it – I cry out and wake Katniss, and it is with almost mechanical motions that she collects me into her arms and rocks me gently back and forth, whispering comforting words to me as she does. She tells me to calm down, tells me my name is only in the bowl one time and I have no reason to be afraid.

She tells me they aren't going to pick me, which confirms my biggest fear.

They won't pick me, but they will pick _her_. When Katniss tries to slip away, presumably to hunt in the woods with Gale, I hold her tighter and try to think of anything that will keep her by my side a little longer.

"Will you sing?" I ask, tears rolling down my face. There are few things more comforting than my sister's voice, and I realize the time I left to hear it is dwindling.

Her voice is soft and lifting, and through the fog of fear, I can't help but think of what a wonderful mother Katniss could be one day. She has always said that she has no interest in marriage or children, but I know otherwise. In a different world – one where there were no Hunger Games and no danger for her family – she would allow herself that happiness.

She tells me to finish on my own, and then she is gone.

I slip into bed with Mother once Katniss disappears into the woods, and I cry into her nightshirt until my tears have run dry. Mother doesn't cry; she doesn't do much of anything. She stares at the wall for a little while, and when I've finished crying, her eyes fall on me where I am snuggled against her chest.

I tell her I'm afraid, and I ask her why this has to happen to us. She doesn't answer; she stares back at the wall instead.

Katniss doesn't return until I am fully dressed in my nicest skirt and collared shirt. I'm folding my socks over my ankles when she sweeps into our room, and when Mother produces a dress in the softest shade of robin egg blue, I can almost see softness in Katniss's eyes. But the look is gone just as quickly as it comes, and I'm left to wonder if Katniss will ever love Mother like she used to.

Katniss dresses quickly, and when she is done Mother braids her hair and pins it back. I can't remember a time Katniss has ever looked more beautiful, though I still believe she is beautiful when she is caked in mud and has dried animal blood under her fingernails. This is a different kind of beautiful – graceful and dignified – the kind of beautiful a woman is on her wedding day. Will Katniss ever have that privilege?

Before we leave the house to walk into town, Katniss crouches down and tucks in the back of my shirt. She calls me the nickname she bestowed on me at some young age, before our father died, and takes my hand in hers. My feet drag in the dirt, sending little brown flecks of mud onto my once white socks. I can't be bothered to care about a little thing like that, not when we are stepping closer to fate with each footfall.

All too soon, we are at the entrance to the town square. I see children ahead of us being poked and prodded already by Capitol officials, and that is when the reality of the whole thing hits. Two of us are going to _die_. Two families will lose a child today, and the only evidence of the young lives will be their meager possessions and two wooden coffins. I imagine staring up at a wooden lid for the rest of time and panic. I can't do this. _They can't pick me!_

I scream again and Katniss is at my side immediately, shushing me and telling me to calm down – the Capitol will not tolerate outbursts. She says it is just a little blood, that I will be fine; but it isn't the needles that bother me! Doesn't she realize how close we are now to losing each other forever? How quickly this could all be over? I try to focus on her hands, rough from years of providing for me, as she rubs them over my cheeks and across my forehead. I have to calm down. I have to do this.

I feel utterly trapped in time itself as the seconds tick by. I zone out while they draw blood and confirm my identity. It is easier this way; it is easier to focus on the numbness of it all rather than the horror. It is only when Katniss and I separate that I realize how important it is that I stay strong for _her_. I set my attention to putting one foot in front of another, and I hold my head as high as I can as I walk toward the other girls from my class. They all look just as scared as I feel, but I won't allow anyone to see that now. A strange sense of empowerment comes over me, that if no one else can see my fear, it doesn't exist.

I wonder if this is how Katniss makes it through each day.

Effie Trinket takes the stage and the readings and videos begin. I zone out during the speeches and instead take the last few moments of stillness before the chaos begins to remember the good days we used to have. Though I was small, I take solace in memories of Dad coming home each night. Katniss and I would run to meet him at the end of the dirt road to our house each day, and I recall with fondness and longing the way he dropped his lunch pail and hat to scoop both of us into his arms. Katniss and I never ran down the road again after he died, but instead walked solemnly, as if out of respect for his memory.

I think of the days Katniss and I spent in the meadow together the spring before Katniss's first Reaping. On the last day, we laid together in the grass, my head resting across her knees, and I linked together wildflowers to make a purple and gold crown for her. When I presented it to her, she playfully asked me what use a girl like her had with a crown. I couldn't find the right words to tell her why, but something in the way I gazed up at her brought tears to her eyes, and she spent the rest of the day braiding and rebraiding my hair in the sunshine.

A single tear slips from my eye when I decide what I will tell Katniss if she is taken away from me today. _Remember that day in the Meadow, Katniss? I couldn't tell you then, but it's because you're my best friend and I love you._ _Try to win, just try to win. _

It is in slow motion that Effie Trinket announces that the time has come to choose District Twelve's tributes, and though her mouth continues to move I cannot hear what she is saying. Each clack of her high-heeled boot against the stage coincides with the pounding beat of my heart, and when she reaches a long, bejeweled hand into the glass orb filled with girls' names, only one thought is looping in my mind. A single thought that I feel with such hopeless desperation that it could drive me mad.

_Not Katniss Everdeen. Not Katniss Everdeen. Not Katniss Everdeen._

And it's not Katniss Everdeen.

It's me.

* * *

A very big thank you to my beta, Everlark Pearl.


	2. The Quell

Part Two of Three

* * *

Sometimes, I wish Katniss had died in the Hunger Games.

An overwhelming feeling of shame always accompanies this thought, but I can't help it. I know she would never have allowed me to go to the Capitol as long as she was of Reaping age as well, so wishing she hadn't volunteered is futile. Wishing itself is useless, I know, but I can't stop.

I see the dejected and calculating look of worry that crosses Katniss's face when she thinks she is alone, and I watch her anxieties manifest as she practically tiptoes around our new house in the Victor's Village. I see her skin blanche whenever she crosses paths with Peeta Mellark, and even the mention of Gale Hawthorne makes her eyes grow distant and worrisome after a few weeks. She spends more time in the woods than she ever has, even though we have more food than we could ever need.

While my waist grows so much that Mother has to order a whole set of new dresses for me, Katniss's eating becomes more restricted and her face becomes more haggard than it looked during the winter we very nearly starved. The freckles that dotted my nose when I was a small child return after many late summer days spent lounging in the sunshine with books and drawing paper. But even the newest and most thrilling Capitol books cannot occupy my mind as I watch my sister fall apart.

Nighttime is the worst for Katniss; many nights, she wakes the entire house with her screams and pants. Nothing we say or do can calm her when these fits begin, and after a while she stops sleeping altogether. One evening, I watch as Mother slips some herb into Katniss's tea. Though her cries do not wake us that night, the next morning she sobs for hours in the hall closet, claiming that she was drowning in her dream – that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't wake up. Mother vows to me that she will never give Katniss that medicine again, and Katniss goes back to long days and nights spent growing weaker both physically and mentally.

Katniss barely speaks to me most days. I'm not sure if she is trying to shelter me from the demons she is hiding away throughout the day or if she just can't relate to me anymore, but either way it hurts. Does she think that I've somehow remained pure throughout her agony?

I watched my sister parade around the Capitol, surely humiliated in her outfits. I've watched her lie on television for my own safety and the safety of our family. I've sat awake all night while she languished in a tree, so sure that she would die I couldn't even cry through my terror. I watched her pass out after painful tracker jacker stings, I've seen her defenseless at the hands of a would-be enemy. I've watched her narrowly avoid death by a Career, and cried with her as she sang a dying girl to rest. Through the blood and watching her put arrows through her competitors – just children themselves – how could I have possibly remained the same girl she left earlier in the summer?

The president visits, and he takes our last semblance of security with him when he leaves.

I snoop and listen in on conversations until I piece together what exactly it is that Katniss must do to keep our family safe – marry Peeta Mellark, have his children, live a life that is a charade, and eventually watch her children die at the hands of the Capitol. The realization that her love for me has trapped her in a vicious cycle of love and loss for as long as she will live is enough to send me running as far away from the Victor's Village as I can manage with the new fence in place. I collapse into the mud not too far from our old house in the Seam, and my salty tears mix with fat raindrops as a storm begins.

During the weeks that Katniss is away on the Victory Tour, I create a new routine for myself. I wake early and take a long walk in the snow – the only thing that can clear my troubled mind – and then spend the morning next to the fire reading everything I can about medicine, plants, and caring for the injured. I take a nap after lunch and spend the remainder of the afternoon tidying the house and shadowing Mother as she works. She teaches me how to create salves and other remedies from the plants in our woods, and I grow more adept with each passing day.

Peeta Mellark proposes, Katniss comes home, and the Everdeen family prepares its oldest daughter for marriage.

My routine continues, though instead of spending my afternoons with Mother, I spend them with my sister. She still refuses to talk to me, but after so many years of watching pain flicker across her face in varying degrees, I know she saw terrible things on the Victory Tour. I don't ask, though, and of course she doesn't tell me anything. The only relief comes in the form of Peeta Mellark, who is a constant, steady source of comfort for my sister.

I'm quietly proud that I'm able to care for Gale after he is whipped, that I am able to provide some comfort to Katniss during a time of harshness and brutality by caring for her best friend. I'm able to keep a level head throughout Gale's moans of pain as Mother and I tend to the open, oozing cuts on his back, and it is during those hours that I spend hovering over Gale and later Katniss, after she breaks her ankle, that my calling in life is solidified.

I decide to dedicate my life to healing others.

We are huddled around the television when President Snow reads the Quarter Quell announcement, and when I realize what the words mean, I bury my face in my hands as my mother shrieks. My worst nightmare has been realized. They are taking my sister away from me _again._

This time, she won't be coming home.

Katniss runs out the door before I can reach her, and I spend the next twenty minutes wandering through the cold and wetness to find her. She has disappeared, most likely to be alone, and I wonder why she won't allow herself to cry in front of us. Why won't she let us see her pain? For a moment, I am enraged with her selfishness – she isn't the only one hurting! Why won't she include me in her pain? Why won't she let me feel this too?

I call her name for several minutes before my voice goes hoarse and I decide to return to the house. She'll come back to us when she's ready and no sooner than that. When she does come home, she's drunk, which is new for her. I can't say I'm too surprised, but I did expect something…more. She falls asleep soon after, and I hear her vomiting in the bathroom the next morning.

There is something different in her eyes when she hugs me, and I wonder if she sees the way I, too, have hardened with time in the months since my first Reaping. I know I shouldn't, but I find myself bitterly hoping that she realizes how different I am, that she senses how much I have grown.

I bite back a scream of frustration, and she moves on.

She trains constantly in the weeks leading up to the Reaping for the Quarter Quell, and I get back to my earlier routines. Though the circumstances are horrendous, there is something encouraging about the way that Katniss dedicates herself to training and preparing for the Quarter Quell, and I wonder what is motivating her to work so hard.

I want so badly for her to come home, and I hope that her motivation is to come back to me once more.

The Reaping is just as one would expect, and before anyone has time to think, Katniss and Peeta are herded onto a Capitol-bound train without time to say goodbye to their families. This change of tradition doesn't surprise me, but what does surprise me is my lack of concern over the missed farewells. There were no variables on which tributes would be chosen, and I've known for weeks that Katniss is entering the arena again. My lack of care disturbs me.

I try for days to pinpoint what exactly I am feeling, and after a week I decide that it is not confidence or assurance, but rather acceptance of my sister's fate.

While she is training and preparing for interviews, I spend my days as she once spent hers. Katniss's closet becomes my favorite hiding place, and when Mother leaves to attend to a patient, I stay behind and rifle through Katniss's old things. One day, Mother finds me asleep in a closet and wearing our father's old hunting jacket. Another day, I try on every discarded wedding dress left in her closet. The pure, white material seems to mock me, to mock all that we have worked for in the last year. We've reconstructed our tiny, fragile family only to have it toppled again.

Mother begs me to put Katniss's things away and close her bedroom door, and I wonder if we will ever open the door again after Katniss dies. I stay away for four days, but as the opening of the Games draws near, I take to sleeping in her bed. The still-rumpled sheets are the closest I have been to my sister since she left…if I'm honest with myself, I feel closer to my sister now than I did when she still lived in this house.

I wonder why it worked out like this – why my name was chosen from thousands of slips that first day, why Katniss and Peeta survived, why Katniss was sent to die again – and am filled with an intense loathing toward myself. If it weren't for me, if my name hadn't been chosen that first time, Katniss would be safe and have a chance at happiness. From the moment she volunteered, Katniss gave up her entire life so that I might live. She gave up any future she may have had, however bleak, to ensure my own chance at life.

Katniss deserves the very best of everything – she deserves a chance to love herself and grow into a beautiful young woman. She deserves to never worry again about where she will find her next meal. She deserves to be clothed in soft materials and sleep in a warm home every night – to sleep soundly throughout the night and dream of the possibilities before her. She deserves love and marriage on her own terms, and she deserves to see her children grow up to be healthy and strong and free from the cruelty of the Reaping.

But when she volunteered to go in my place, Katniss sealed both of our fates.

The person who has the world and all its opportunities before her?

_Not Katniss Everdeen._

It's me.

* * *

I'm very grateful to my friend Everlark Pearl for her help with this story. Please check out her wonderful stories if you haven't already.


	3. The Capitol

WARNING: This chapter contains frightening and gory imagery that may be considered unsuitable for some readers. Discretion is advised.

* * *

I look out my bedroom window toward the town and the Seam and see what must surely be the end of the world. Fire rains down upon our friends and neighbors as they run in search of relief from the flames, only to find their homes and businesses destroyed by an unseen enemy in the skies.

Mother bursts into my room wearing only her pajamas and housecoat, and she tells me to dress quickly. She's more expressive and aware than she's been in years, and I realize how truly terrified she must be to be moving as quickly as she is. I pull a cotton dress from my closet and slip it over my head before working my socked feet into a pair of short boots that sit next to my bed. My fingers tremble as I work to tie the laces, and Mother shouts at me to hurry. After another minute and several more useless attempts at knotting the frayed strings together, I abandon the effort and simply tuck them in.

Downstairs, Mother is filling two cloth sacks with as many coils of bandages and tubes of salves as she can, until both are nearly too heavy to carry. She slips the heavier of the two around her shoulders before helping me fit the other against my back. Buttercup paws at my feet, and though I know it is frivolous and silly, I can't leave him behind. I scoop him up and deposit him in the sack so that only his head peeks out of the top.

"Primrose," Mother says, taking my cheeks in her hands. "Go to the Seam. Find the Hawthorne family. Do not stop for anyone."

The severity and finality of her tone frighten me, and I wonder for the first time what exactly we are going to see in our burning district. To get to the Seam from the Victors Village, we must travel through the center of town. From the front porch, I see only flames down the hill, where the heart of our district lies, and my stomach lurches when I realize there are families trapped inside the burning buildings.

With one final look around the house we've lived in for the last year, Mother and I set off toward town. She urges me to stick to the edge of town, but as we get closer it becomes apparent that this isn't the safest route. We're forced to cut through the center of town, and avoiding the fires sends us weaving through alleys and old shops. Mother gasps when we pass the bakery, and where a thriving little building with rooms above for the family should stand, there is a burning shell. Mother seems frozen in place; it seems the utter destruction and chaos around us is too much for her. Our entire lives are burning down around us, and we are powerless to stop it.

A powerful explosion from the cobbler's shop shakes Mother out of her trance, and with a shuttering breath we take off running together again. Her hand is clasped tightly in mine, and I feel comforted by her presence. I briefly wonder about Katniss but painstakingly push the thought from my mind. For now, I have to worry about myself and Mother.

Our district is under attack, and our enemy has made it obvious they will take no prisoners.

It doesn't take long to find the Hawthorne family once we enter the Seam. Gale has taken leadership over the survivors and is directing families to start into the woods. The head group takes off, and the strongest families fall in line behind. Mother and Mrs. Hawthorne speak off to one side; Mother is asking where we will go and over the noise I can just barely make out the words, "District Thirteen." I feel a pawing at my neck and remember that Buttercup is in my bag. I take him into my arms and nuzzle his neck affectionately for a few moments before handing him off to Posy, who keeps him locked against her chest. Gale scoops Posy up, Buttercup and all, and then we are running, fleeing our district and the only home we have ever known.

The woods are a terror all their own, and in this unfamiliar landscape, my only choice is to follow the group in front of me as they scamper over the land. The inhabitants of District Twelve – except the handful who have ventured into the woods before – struggle over the rocky and uneven landscape. I'm running nearly blind, as the moon and a few lanterns far ahead are the only sources of light in this wilderness. When we reach a particularly rough patch of terrain, my boot catches on a root and I'm sent face first into the ground.

The pain is overwhelming, so much so that my vision blurs and my hearing fades in and out. My entire body hurts; I'm sure that I've cracked a rib. I can feel thick, warm blood running over my forehead, and for a moment I'm sure that I've been forgotten – that I'm going to die here. In the distance, I can hear someone calling out for me. My eyes drift closed seconds before someone collects me in his arms and lifts me like a child.

Rory Hawthorne gathers my body closer to him as he carries me through the forest. The movement causes my head to pound, and before I can warn him, I vomit hot bile onto his shirt. He grimaces but only speaks soft, comforting words to me, and after my stomach has nothing left to give, I drift in and out of consciousness as I'm jostled along. Rory tries to keep me awake as we approach the larger group, shaking me when he feels my body start to go limp.

Mother's voice sounds like she is shouting as she instructs Rory to keep me from sleep, no matter what. I can feel her hands on my cheeks as she examines my head and eyes and tells him I probably have a concussion. The words sound wrong when she says them, distorted somehow. My body wants nothing more than to drift off to sleep, but Rory doesn't allow it. Even when he lowers me onto a blanket a while later, he stays next to me, holding my hand and talking to me in a hushed voice. As the hours go on and my body feels more and more useless and miserable, he stretches out beside me and whispers every story he can think of from when we were small children playing together. He tells me stories about our fathers and tells me all the things he wanted to do with his life until now, though he doesn't dwell on the future too much.

It's possible that Rory saves my life, and after that night things are never the same between us again.

I wake with the morning sun and discover the last souls of District Twelve are so few in number that we can all sleep huddled together in a clearing in the woods. My head feels heavy, and the open gash at my hairline throbs horribly when I move. When I finally pull myself into a sitting position, I run a quick inventory of those around me to see who is here and who is missing. Rory and Vick are curled around their mother while Gale holds little Posy against his chest, his strong arms cradling her. He raises his eyes at me for a moment before resting his cheek against the top of her head again, and something in his eyes – the anger, the confusion, the resolve – shakes me to the core.

Why have they done this to us?

Mother pulls a bandage and a tube of antibacterial salve from the bag at her side to clean my wound, and though I try to refuse it so we can save the supplies for others, she insists. I wince as she picks small rocks and other debris from the cut before applying a considerable amount of salve and then wrapping a bandage around my head several times to keep it clean. I'm quiet as she works and keep my eyes trained on her the whole time. I can't bear to look around at the others.

"You'll help me, won't you?" Mother asks me in a low voice, and her eyes drift around to the others.

"Of course," I whisper. Mother and I are used to working together as a team, but even after so many years of tending to the wounded side by side, the carnage that awaits us is…indescribable.

After a few hours of directing those capable of helping, we've set up a makeshift hospital in the clearing. Mother organizes the wounded into rows and groups based on the severity of their injuries, and together we use what little supplies we've brought from home to tend to the surviving people of District Twelve. It isn't perfect, but I'm proud of our work – all of us. This feeling is short-lived, though, when I start examining injuries.

I've seen burns before – treated them, with Mother's help and guidance – but I've never seen any as horrific as these. Accounts from those who are able to speak of their experiences tell of poisonous chemicals dropping from the sky, of fire that could not be stopped with water or smothering. The few people of the Merchant class that survived – no more than a hundred or so in total – are the most seriously injured. These burns are like nothing I've ever seen before; in addition to blackened burns from fire, at least fifty people, mostly from town, have chemical burns covering their faces, necks, and arms. The burns range in severity from irritated, red splotches with blisters to deep, numb patches where nerves and muscle have been burned away. Throughout the day, white, ashy edges form around the burn sites, and no matter which salves and bandaging we attempt, Mother and I can't do anything for the pain and blackening of skin.

We try our hardest and get help when we can, but Mother and I can't save everyone. I keep a blank face while three girls I know from school, all of whom were in my class, die in the morning from their burns. I can hardly recognize them – girls who smiled at me every day – as they languish in the mid-morning heat. Throughout the day, though, I find my resolve weakening as I watch those around me suffering. There's a family whose faces have all but melted away, and though Mother and I keep a constant watch on one of the little boys, he dies in the late afternoon. I hold his blackened hand as he takes his final breaths, and after Gale has collected the boy for burial, I flee into the woods to sit and cry.

In the clearing, District Twelve loses fourteen more. Gale and Thom take on the awful task of burying our most recent losses, and after each body is lowered into a shallow grave and covered with soft, dark earth, the whole of our remaining district salutes our fallen in silence.

As darkness falls and we prepare to move again, I am told our old house in the Seam and the Mellark family's bakery were the first buildings destroyed – the Mellark family, who lived above the bakery, must have died instantly in the blast. Mother cries when she hears, but I feel a sense of peace knowing kind Mr. Mellark, who brought bread to our house every night while Katniss was in her first Games, didn't suffer. I think of our old house – our home – the place where our father slept every night, the place where Katniss and I were born, the place where we survived for so long. I want to feel sad, but I can't muster the feelings inside of me. I can't mourn a rundown house when so many around me have lost their families and friends.

We reach District Thirteen in four days' time, and it is there that, against all the odds, I am reunited with my sister once more. Even as I rush to hold her, I can see that something is not right. Gone is the young woman I knew, and in her place is a girl I've never seen. I remember the days before the Victory Tour, when Katniss seemed so distraught. Now, the girl I knew even then has been destroyed, and in her place there is a gaunt, miserable shell. Even when she is released from the hospital and allowed to live with Mother and I in a small, compartment-like room, she is void of any emotion other than sorrow. She barely eats a thing, and when she does she gets sick afterward. I talk to her as much as I can when we're together, but even then I find myself tiring easily. Her attitude is contagious, and after a little while I can't stand to be around her anymore. Eventually, Mother and I find out what happened in the arena and afterward, though Katniss is not the one to tell us.

I don't think she could speak about it if she wanted to.

Our first meaningful conversation comes after President Coin bargains with Katniss to become the Mockingjay – a symbol of rebellion and freedom for the new Panem – and lead the districts in a final war against the Capitol. Katniss is fearful for Peeta in the Capitol and what will happen to him if the rebellion does succeed, and when I calmly suggest that she demand Peeta be pardoned for his actions, I can see something in her eyes shift as she looks at me. It's as if, for the first time, she's realizing that I am not a child anymore – that I'm not someone who needs protecting. It is with sadness that I realize, even so, that Katniss stopped worrying about me long before this moment. Still, she states her demands to Coin and Peeta is guaranteed immunity.

After our mild success setting up the field hospital, Mother and I are each granted a place on the medical staff in District Thirteen – Mother as a healer and me as a nursing trainee. I work from early in the morning into the evenings, but it is good for me. I learn more in the first few weeks than in years of training in District Twelve, and I'm surprised at how essential machines are to the hospital's most basic operations. The functionality and use intrigues me and further solidifies my desire to become a doctor. District Thirteen – whose efficiency is unmatched by any other district and even the Capitol – is quick to enroll me in the proper classes and practical work shifts that will teach me everything I need to know to work to my fullest potential both here and in the world above.

Though I enjoy my classes and get along well with my classmates, I'm quieter here than I was back home. I expect that after what I've seen and the loss I've faced, I've earned the right to be sullen some days. The girls in my classes are welcoming, but I spend most of my free time with Rory Hawthorne, who has quickly become my best friend and confidant in this strange, dark place. Together, we seek out nooks where we simply sit and talk, and I'm able to divulge my feelings of guilt, shame, and later indifference toward my sister to him. On the day I admit that I once wished her dead, he doesn't push me away like I thought he would, but instead pulls me close and kisses the top of my head sweetly. He holds me as I cry, and when my tears have gone, he tips my chin toward him and kisses me, long and slow, until it is time to part for the evening.

Peeta warns Katniss of the bombs less than an hour before the explosives dig into the ground where the hive of District Thirteen is built. Though the system of evacuating to the shelters below is systematic and organized, I break ranks when I realize I've left Buttercup behind. Throughout my time in District Thirteen, Buttercup has been my constant companion. Even before District Twelve was bombed, he slept in my bed every night. He brought me comfort both times my sister was thrust into the Hunger Games. The thought of leaving him to die in the dark of our compartment is unbearable, and I rush back upstairs to retrieve him.

Katniss's eyes are wild when I finally reach the entrance to the bomb shelter, and she pulls me to her roughly once I've squeezed inside, crushing Buttercup between us. She's upset with me, which is reassuring – this is the most I've seen from her in months. I fold Buttercup into my arms with Katniss teases him, and though I know she'd like to antagonize him all day, she lets us go. I settle down at the spot she specifies and hold Buttercup close.

"Wherever you are, I am," I tell him, and something in his big, yellow eyes tells me he understands.

We're plunged into total darkness mere seconds after the bombs start, and I can barely breathe until the generators cut on and we're bathed in the soft glow of light once more. Katniss pulls herself over to me, but I focus instead on Buttercup, who is shaking uncontrollably in my lap. I want to cry when Mother wraps her arms around Katniss and me, like she did when we were younger. I feel so small again, even as I discuss the different types of bombs I've been learning about in citizenship class. Mother leaves a short time later, after another announcement from Coin, and I'm left in a somewhat awkward silence with Katniss. Katniss, who is both my sister and a stranger all at once.

She suggests I crawl into the bunk with Buttercup, but even as she is speaking I can think only of the pain of being crushed beneath the upper bunk, should a bomb hit close enough to us. The reality of my imminent death anyway, should that happen, is too terrible to think of, and Katniss says nothing. I'm grateful when she pulls the mattress down to the floor for us and curls up behind me, her arm wrapped lazily around my waist.

It is in this shelter that, for the first time since her Games, Katniss bothers to ask me how I'm feeling, how I'm dealing with the loss of my entire way of life. I can read guilt across her face and know that she has only just realized how much she has neglected me over the past year. I can't help it – I'm angry. I hate her for leaving me for those stupid Games. I hate her for volunteering in my place. I hate her for all that has happened to us, even the things she couldn't control, and I wish, cruelly, that she could feel half of the pain that I've felt.

But instead of telling her these thoughts, I tell her about my work in the hospital and desire to become a doctor. She seems interested in what I'm saying, and I can see another little shift inside her. It's as if, for the first time, she has allowed herself to see a future beyond the place and time we're living in now, and in her eyes I can see that the idea truly excites her. We could be free.

The conversation shifts back to her, and she finally tells me all the things she's been bottling inside over the last few weeks. She tells me what will happen to Peeta now that he's betrayed the Capitol's plans, but something about her vision doesn't sit right with me. Though I have barely seen the man, something tells me that President Snow wouldn't throw away Peeta so quickly, because hurting Peeta is the key to hurting Katniss. Everyone else can see how much she loves him, even a heartless, evil man like President Snow.

Upon his rescue and return, Peeta Mellark tries to murder my sister.

I'm told of the attack during a shift with the other nurses, and immediately I am at Katniss's side. There's something different – something awful and disorienting – about seeing Katniss in pain so close to me. I've only watched her nearly die on television, and I can better understand Katniss's actions upon her return home after her first Games. I wonder if this is what it was like to watch the girl from Eleven die in her arms, and I cannot find relief in Katniss's recovery, even after her most severe injuries heal and she wakes. Something inside of me changes as I watch my sister lay in misery, and I know that her physical injuries are nothing compared to the emotional pain she is feeling now. Peeta hasn't just fallen out of love with her – he _hates_ her. He tried to _kill_ her. The person she could always count on to have her best interests at heart, regardless of how frustrating she pretended he was, suddenly wanted nothing more than to squeeze the very life he'd spent so long trying to safeguard.

Rage boils inside me when I'm directed to leave Katniss's side, and I snap at that oaf Plutarch when he tries to order me away. Like a film in fast forward, I watch moments from my life flicker by – Katniss holding me when I was still very small, Katniss singing to me, Katniss holding my hand as we walked, Katniss feeding me, Katniss volunteering for me. There is no way in hell I am leaving her side now, when I may be the only person left who truly loves her without asking for anything in return.

We're told of Peeta's hijacking, the sensitive and awful way his mind has been conditioned to fear and hate anything to do with my sister, and even as Plutarch is discussing what little information they have, the answer is gnawing away at my mind. I remember something from months ago…something I read in an old psychology book one morning after a long walk through town. It takes me a moment to recall the exact words, but I remember something about dogs and bells. I ask questions when I can, and though I spend the next few days nursing Katniss as best I can and feeding her when she forgets to eat, my mind works tirelessly to concoct a solution. When we were starving, Katniss taught herself how to hunt. It would have been easy to let us die, easier than teaching herself to hunt and spending hours in the forbidden woods beyond the fence, but Katniss sacrificed herself for me. I'm determined to cure Peeta – Peeta holds the key to Katniss's happiness, and I'll be damned if I'm going to allow Snow to shatter the rock that has held me together for so long.

The answer comes to me all at once while I'm comforting Katniss, and I excuse myself to the hospital immediately to try the treatment. Reverse conditioning. Training Peeta to love again.

It doesn't work at first, but over time Peeta makes small steps toward recovery. Katniss can't stand to be in Thirteen and leaves for Two, and with her she takes my last shred of sanity. I can't help but feel like I've failed her; I couldn't bring Peeta back to her, so she left both of us. I feel alone and pathetically sorry for myself. Though I'd ignored his messages and requests to talk for weeks while I devoted myself to Katniss, I start spending my free time with Rory again. Things are different between us now. We both have siblings away at war, we've both seen our brother and sister injured and broken. Most of our time is spend holding each other in silence; I feel something inside of me ignite when a few tears drip from Rory's long nose into my hair. I hate that this is what we've become. We should be playing together in the schoolyard, walking home holding hands, and stealing sweet kisses when no one is looking.

I watch what I believe is Katniss's death on television. Seeing her body go limp after the gunshot sends a stab of pain through my chest, and I cannot breathe as I watch her fall to the ground, lifeless. Rory's arms are around me before I realize I'm screaming, and he carries me, thrashing, to our compartment. He forces onto my bed and lays his entire body over mine to stop my kicking, and in my panic I accidentally scratch his cheek hard enough to draw blood. He grabs my wrists roughly in his hands and forces them to my side where they stay, fists clenching and unclenching.

"My sister, Rory, my sister," I'm crying, my eyes darting around the room. "They took my sister. They took my sister. They finally did it. They took her."

Rory lowers his face to an inch within mine and speaks slowly, pleading with me to calm down. But nothing can help. Nothing can make this pain bearable. He doesn't release my hands until my body has gone slack with exhaustion, and when he's sure that I've relaxed, he settles next to me and pulls my body flush against his. He stays with me the entire night and into the next day.

But Katniss hasn't died. I can't help but feel like I've been cheated. How many times will I say goodbye to Katniss before it becomes real?

Mere days after Katniss returns, it is announced that there will be a wedding for Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta. It feels ridiculous to watch workers set up for the wedding when the districts and Capitol are at war, but to my surprise the whole of District Thirteen puts in time and effort to make the wedding perfect. Strange and beautiful Annie Cresta is striking in Katniss's old dress, and Finnick is, of course, a vision in Peeta's altered suit. The obvious, all-consuming love between the couple brings tears to my eyes, and I can't stop glancing over at Rory throughout the ceremony. When the couple starts their vows, his hand finds mine and our fingers link together.

My joy is compounded when Katniss finds me after the ceremony and dances with me until we're both breathless and red in the cheeks. I can't remember a time that we've had so much fun, and as her hair bounces around her head and her feet move quickly in time with mine, I see the carefree, happy girl that Katniss could have been, had life not dealt us so much harshness and pain. The moment is short-lived, as Katniss is called away by Haymitch after the wedding cake is wheeled in, but I won't let my spirits drop tonight. Almost as soon as Katniss leaves, Rory is at my side and pulling me back onto the dance floor. The quick, staccato rhythm changes to a slow, mellow tune, and Rory blushes as he pulls me closer and steadily moves us around the dance floor.

There's something mature about him now – he's much older than the boy I knew back in District Twelve – and I find myself stepping closer to him until our chests are nearly touching. There's a heat between us I've never felt before, and my stomach flutters with anticipation. There's warmth in his eyes that I haven't seen, even when we gently kissed shortly after arriving in Thirteen. He tugs me down the hall with a lopsided grin, and though it is against the rules, we're soon running through a maze of hallways together, giggling like children. He pulls me into a half-empty supply nook on a lower level, and my laughter catches in my throat when he pins me – hands on either side of my head – against the smooth, grey wall and kisses me.

My eyes flutter closed as his lips move against mine, and I wrap my arms around his neck to pull him closer. He stumbles slightly and I laugh into his mouth, but my lips never leave his. This kiss is not like the others – there's something like adoration and promise behind it – and when we're both out of air, he pulls away and rests his forehead against mine.

"I love you, Primrose Everdeen," he says, all ruddy cheeks and dark skin. It's silly, the way he says it, like he's nervously repeating lines in front of the entire class, but I don't doubt his sincerity for a moment. I cup both of his cheeks with my hands and kiss him once, twice, three times before pulling back and smiling brightly.

"I love you, too, Rory Hawthorne," I tell him, and the smile he shoots me in return is so incredibly cute that I can only laugh and kiss him again.

Life goes back to its usual grind shortly after the wedding, as I knew it would. Katniss wants nothing more than to go into the Capitol and fight, and though it is practically a death sentence, I say nothing as she pushes through intense training exercises. I have so much to do on my own in the hospital and in my lessons, and we aren't living together anymore; it is easy to lose contact with each other. I go entire days without seeing her at all, and conversation ceases almost completely. She does visit the night after her confrontation with Peeta in the dining hall, and while it is somewhat nice to see my sister, her sour attitude is nothing short of draining.

Her long days of training pay off when Katniss tells us she is leaving for the Capitol. Mother holds Katniss for a long time, crying for her daughter. Katniss assures her that any involvement from the squadron in the action will be purely for television purposes, but I can see through her lies easily. She's planning something. I can see it now – Katniss breaking ranks once she enters the city. Hunting President Snow on her own. I don't want to think of her fate in the Capitol.

I walk her as far as the hospital doors and sigh before asking, "How do you feel?"

"Better, knowing you're somewhere Snow can't reach you," Katniss says. Something in her tone frustrates me, but I know now isn't the time for an argument. Now isn't the time try to convince her to stop – she won't listen. Her concern is for herself, because death is easy as long as you know your loved ones are safe without you. It's selfish. Katniss can't stuff me away in Thirteen forever, no matter how easy it would be for both of us.

"Next time we see each other," I tell her firmly, "we'll be free of him." I throw my arms around her neck and pull her into a close hug. Though the words feel ridiculous leaving my mouth, I add, "Be careful."

With that, she is gone.

I spend my last week in Thirteen working my regular nursing shifts. There's nothing special about these days – I wake and go to classes and then training, spend time with Rory, and converse quietly with Mother in the evenings. Thirteen runs like a well-oiled machine with little interruptions, so when I am called out of my morning history lessons unexpectedly, my mind is racing. Has something happened to my mother? Has Katniss died?

I'm summoned to President Coin's office, where outside a small group of other nursing trainees are gathered. I wring my hands nervously while I wait to be called inside, but when I walk into the impressive-looking room, I'm surprised to know that I've been promoted to field nurse and will be on a hovercraft to the Capitol in mere hours.

"There must be a mistake," I tell her, a tremor in my voice. "I – I'm only thirteen."

"Primrose," Coin coos, almost affectionately. "You've proven yourself more than capable during your time in Thirteen. It is only right that you serve your country in the Capitol. Think of the good you could do there. You could save lives, Primrose."

Uncertainty is painted across my face, but Coin doesn't stop there.

"Katniss's squad has gone missing in the Capitol," Coin says gravely, her mouth pursed. "We need all competent medical staff on the scene immediately. You could save your sister's life, Primrose."

Though I'd like nothing more than to run from the room and hide away with Buttercup in our compartment, I'm packing a small bag an hour later.

Mother sobs openly when she's told, but I refuse to let her hold me back from this.

"Mom," I plead with her, taking her hands in my own, "I have to go. Katniss is there, Mom. She's in trouble. I have to do this. I have to try to save Katniss." My voice never shakes as I talk Mother through my leaving, and my face remains solid and steadfast as I board a hovercraft bound for the Capitol.

I wonder if this is what Katniss felt as she boarded Capitol-bound trains in the Hunger Games. I'm afraid, but my fear has made me stronger. I know I face horrors unlike anything I've experienced before, even in the bombing of Twelve, but I'm unable to do anything but sit plainly and quietly throughout the journey.

The medical staff is organized into two teams when we arrive in the Capitol, and I am assigned to Group A. I'm told we'll head straight into the center of the city with a wave of rebel soldiers. After living underground for so long, the cold of winter is startling against my skin, even through my coat and stockings. Each nurse is given a medical kit, and something about the weight of it in my arm is comforting. I may not wield a bow and arrow or a mighty trident, but the parcel in my hand gives me the ability to heal – to save lives – and that is a gift I will never take for granted.

I'm placed among ranks of rebel soldiers, one nurse for every twenty soldiers. My mind is consumed with facts and figures and diagrams as we march into the Circle – I worry that I'll forget my years of notes and training the moment I see the carnage. But no, I can't allow that. I've been sent here for a reason. I was sent here to help the wounded. To save those I can. To find my sister and bring her home.

The crowds around the Circle are pure chaos, and despite the differences in dress and stature, I can't tell who is Capitol and who is rebel. My small frame is nearly crushed as bodies push past me, and I watch a man lose his head to a shotgun mere feet away from me. Blood and skin pepper my coat, and I gasp in horror. I'm pushed further into the Circle by the crowd before I can properly process what I've just seen, and ahead of me, about a hundred yards away, a hovercraft bearing the Capitol seal drops bright, silver parachutes into a crowd of children. I'm already running toward them when the explosions begin, scattering blood and body parts across the pure, white snow.

I lock eyes with a small, blonde girl just as her leg is blown off.

And then I'm running faster than I ever have before, because something in her eyes starts a fire within me. Katniss – I have to find Katniss. I know she is here, because where else would she be? Why else would the Capitol have dropped bombs on its own children?

I look for grey eyes and brown braids in every person I pass, searching the faces of the wounded for the one that is so similar to my own. I need my sister. I need her to be okay. I need my Katniss to come back to me. _My _Katniss, not the Capitol's creation.

I need the girl whose voice mixed with our father's and carried throughout town, charming anyone who heard. I need the girl whose deepest love was for her family, so much that she was broken when we lost our father, so much that she sacrificed her life for mine many times over. I need the girl who laid with me in the meadow, the one whose head I adorned with the most fragile of crowns because I had little else to offer the person I've always loved most. I need the girl who woke before the sun to gather and hunt food for our family, the girl whose greatest hope in life came from a simple act of kindness by a relative stranger. I need the girl who, despite her hard exterior, was more sensitive and loving than anyone I'd ever met – the girl who loved so wholly and so completely that it had the power to consume and destroy her.

I'm worried that I've found her when I reach a broken, bleeding body in the center of the carnage and pull off my coat to wrap it around the girl. My hands are shaking as I push dark, blood-soaked hair from the girl's face, but this is not my sister. Not Katniss Everdeen.

The face staring up at me is not the one once flushed and filled with joy as we danced at the Odairs' wedding, and a few tears slip from my eyes as relief floods my body. I allow the memory of that one, perfect moment to fill me up completely. The song, the footwork, Katniss's hands in mine, our laughter ringing clear over the music.

"Not Katniss Everdeen," I choke out. "Please, not Katniss Everdeen. Not Katniss Everdeen. Not Katniss Everdeen."

I hear a panic-stricken, desperate voice call my name, and look into my sister's eyes. She's rushing toward me, and for one wild moment, I'm convinced that she's been hit, that she's about be blown to pieces in a fiery hell.

_Not Katniss Everdeen. Not Katniss Everdeen. Not Katniss Everdeen._

But the girl on fire is not Katniss Everdeen.

It's me.

* * *

Thank you to Everlark Pearl for her incredible advice, encouragement, and beta work for this story. Also, thank you to falafel_waffel for answering medical questions.


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